


Seven Minutes

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-25
Updated: 1999-02-25
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A very angsty inside the head piece of PWP in which I explore the  ramifications of Ray's bullet.  Set after RW&B.





	Seven Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

(put title here)

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
SEVEN MINUTES by Lyn C  
  
The story is mine but the characters are Alliances. I'm just borrowing  
them.  
Do not archive without the permission of the author.  
PG 13 Drama  
  
Set after RWB. I wrote this because that bullet always bothered me  
  
As he locked the door of the Consulate, he breathed in deeply. The Chicago  
evening air was cooling. It had been a satisfactory ending to a complicated  
day. Benton Fraser fingered the keys absently. He looked at the darkening  
sky and thought fondly of the semaphore messages The Inspector had surprised  
him; he'd surprised himself at his own presumption. His cheeks threatened  
to burn at the memory, 'red suits you'. He winced as the keys hit a painful  
spot on his wrist, it had been a mistake to slide down that elevator  
cable. He had nasty itchy burns on his forearm now which he had treated  
with antiseptic at the consulate. He resolved not to try that again in  
the near future.  
  
He walked slowly down the steps to the sidewalk and turned to face West  
Racine. He was looking forward to the walk home, he needed to clear his  
mind of the trauma of the day. He was pleased that the Bolt brothers  
had finally been apprehended and that he and Ray had succeeded in saving  
the lives of the judge and jury, a feat Diefenbaker had not hesitated  
in taking credit for, ingrate! Yes, he was instrumental in tying up the  
loose ends, the recovery of the bonds and trapping the Bolts, but then  
so were he and Ray. Benton tsked. Presshound!  
  
He turned round quickly, half expecting the wolf to be trotting at his  
heels or sniffing at some unsuspecting lamppost. Dief wasn't there of  
course He had managed to inveigle his way into the affections of a blonde  
woman reporter who, impressed with his detective skills, had taken him  
off for a treat and a photograph session, with the promise to return  
him to the Mountie's apartment that evening. The movement forced a gasp  
from his lips. That hurt, a twinge in his back, and with it came a memory,  
unbidden and unwelcome. It issued from the wound in his back. Ray's bullet  
was still embedded near a vertebrae where it always would be; a reminder  
to Benton of his foolishness, his darker side, his vulnerability where  
women were concerned. It was a facet of his personality he was loathe  
to think about, the dark side he preferred to pretend did not exist.  
  
He had slowly been coming to terms with those tragic days. It was taking  
some time, his trust in others and belief in himself had been damaged.  
He could not bring himself to talk about it with Ray, and Meg had no  
inkling either of the torment he went through each time he considered  
the possibility of a serious romance. The fear was lessening now as he  
recognised in her a similar reluctance, like magnets they both attracted  
and repelled each other. She did not throw herself at him like other  
women did. Rather, she gave him space, was even aloof despite their  
sharing of what he had come to call 'The Moment' -- whenever he allowed  
himself to think of it, which was, truth to tell, frequently. He had  
of late begun to wonder if he could, indeed, be capable of allowing another  
woman near. Thatcher's record was exemplary and as a Mountie it went  
without saying that she was dependable, honest and upright, like himself.  
Maybe she had been hurt too at some time. He doubted she could have  
been as foolish as he had been. She would never desert her friend, her  
job, her honour for a criminal. No, no one could be that foolish; it  
took a naive idiot to (to borrow one of Ray's phrases) screw up big time  
like he had done. He could not imagine the Inspector falling for someone  
as devious as Victoria. No, he had been blinded by passion and would  
suffer for it for the rest of his life, Ray made sure of that. Oh, he'd  
forgiven Ray for shooting him, yes, maybe was even glad of it. That bullet  
was his conscience now, warning him about women, to be wary of his own  
feelings. To be aware that his own judgement could be based too much  
on emotion, faulty logic, animal instinct, and could be so very wrong.  
He deserved those twinges, they would serve to keep him on the straight  
path, maintaining the right.  
  
He looked up from his reverie to check he was still walking in the right  
direction. He had been so lost in thought he feared he might have gotten  
turned around, but no, he was on the right street. back to Ray and Ray's  
bullet. That had been quite some argument yesterday.........was it yesterday?  
Ray had been in a snit over that magazine article. When he thought carefully  
about it, he realised that their relationship had not got back to an  
even keel since Irene. Was there a hint of resentment still there? And  
the thought that Ray considered him unfeeling, lacking in emotion still  
rankled. Benton considered himself to be a deeply feeling person, he  
just didn't care to wear his heart on his sleeve as the Italian did.  
Another twitch, was this worse than usual? He suspected so as he discovered  
he could not put as much pressure on one foot as he normally would. Great  
Scott, he was having to limp! Could it have been the fall down the elevator  
shaft? Surely a fit body like his could take a fall like that. He always  
managed to land gracefully from great heights, a feat of which he was  
immensely proud. Falling was something he was good at, falling from trains  
.........yeah, sure, but not falling in love. Jumping he did well too:  
off cliffs, off roofs, off trains. The kiss, The Moment. He tried to  
focus on that; trains were a problem. He would steer away from the  
thought of falling out of Victoria's arms in the train station, concentrate  
on the top of a speeding train full of sleeping Mounties, the snow glistening  
all around and a cold wind ruffling his hair through a crownless Stetson.  
The moment his eyes locked on hers, it was unavoidable; I have a heart  
and it beats just like yours.....a runaway. During the kiss time had  
stood still and they were both, he knew, totally unaware of the precarious  
hold they had on the surface of the train or the danger that threatened.  
It had been ................. exhilarating.  
  
Another twinge, getting worse, travelling down his spine through to the  
little toe on his right foot, and at the same time up to his head. He  
rubbed at his temples and stopped to lean on a hydrant to catch his breath,  
squeeze his eyes and furrow his brow. A shake of the head, better, the  
annoying fizzing in his ears eased off; he had only just become aware  
of it, though it must have been building up for some time. His vision  
had become a little blurred, he was finding it difficult to focus on  
the traffic lights and he needed to cross the road. He limped to the  
junction, the lights changed and he crossed, helping a young mother and  
her stroller loaded with baby and shopping cross with him. He held the  
infant's hand for her, maybe as much for his own security. He made it  
to the other side without incident, touched the brim of his hat and smiled.  
Where?  
  
A sharper twinge made him gasp. He was confused, how long had he had  
that bullet, Ray's bullet, in his back? Months. Was it really that long  
ago? He could remember it as well as the events of yesterday, the events  
of this morning; he tried to focus on them, today had been a success,  
lives had been saved ................... lots of lives.  
  
Where was he? He stopped once more to rub his back and stretch. The  
twinge had become a pain, it eased a little, he couldn't remember when  
the twinge had turned into a pain. He looked up at the sky, not so clear  
as at home, too much light pollution. Too much light in Chicago, and  
much too much pollution, but the sky was dark. Night fell and he couldn't  
remember it happening. It's always light, hey, Dief?  
  
And no stars, the moon but no stars except maybe the north star. Yes,  
he could just make it out, a tiny yellow dot in the sky. It was a peculiar  
sensation, looking at one star in a sky that was not very dark. At home  
he could find his way through the tundra using constellations to guide  
him on days when the light hardly came at all. If he looked hard enough  
maybe he could see the Big Dipper, Orion's Belt, Castor and Pollux, Sirius,  
maybe even the northern lights. What were the northern lights doing in  
Chicago? He blinked and in doing so realised that his eyes had been closed,  
now they were open he could see the dark sky once more and the street  
light above his head. Great Scott! What am I doing lying down on a Chicago  
Street? Ray, why didn't you tell me I fell over, did I faint? There  
was no answer to Benton's puzzled question because he was alone and Ray  
was at his home dining with his argumentative siblings.  
  
He was vaguely aware of people passing by above him; it was their feet  
and legs he could see, and he could hear their voices, dismissing him  
as a drunk or an addict. Drunk? I don't drink, it takes away your judgement,  
your common sense. Then again, maybe he should drink, he wasn't drunk  
when he ran for that train, wasn't drunk when he jumped bail. Ray could  
have lost his house. Where was reason then?  
  
'Hey, buddy, ya need some help?'  
  
Benton opened his eyes at the rough voice and reached for the proffered  
hand that blocked his vision of the filthy street.  
  
'Say, I know a place for the homeless, I can show ya.'  
  
Benton levered himself to standing, recoiled at the helpful hobo's rancid  
breath, brushed the dirt off his uniform and shook his head.  
  
'Thank you kindly, I am not homeless.'  
  
He looked around with some disorientation,  
  
'Sir, could you tell me in which direction is West Racine. I seem to  
be lost. '  
Benton was confused, he did not normally get lost, he  
had a compass. The hobo chuckled,  
  
'Ya don' wanna go there, I know much better places.'  
  
'I live there.' rejoined Benton, dryly.  
  
's thataway.'  
  
The hobo shrugged and pointed in what seemed to the Mountie to be an  
indeterminate direction and moved off mumbling incoherently, taking a  
swig from what appeared to be a paper bag As he faded into the darkness  
Benton thought he could see him place a Stetson on his head. Benton  
hugged his coat closer around him, puzzled, was it getting colder? He  
proceeded unsteadily in the general direction of where he assumed the  
street person had pointed.  
  
'Thank you kindly'  
  
The pain seemed to have faded to a dull ache through his back and legs,  
he felt extremely tired, but then it had been an exhausting twenty-four  
hours. He had been covered in a poncho and strapped to a bomb and his  
best friend in a courtroom; these were not common occurrences. Well,  
not where he came from, he couldn't recall ever having seen a poncho  
before in real life, much less worn one. Having to control his and Ray's  
heartbeats had been stressful , defusing the bomb had taken up much nervous  
energy. So yes, he had a right to be exhausted. Not forgetting the fact  
that he had been punched unconscious. Exhaustion seemed entirely in order,  
a natural progression. But this dull throbbing pain was something else  
and it was taking all his concentration to not end up flat on his back  
again. Concentrate Benton, on getting home to a warming cup of tea, a  
cozy blanket and a comfortable bed. He was finding it difficult to move  
his legs but squinting up at the shop signs he registered that it was  
not far to his slummy apartment. The shops were certainly looking more  
dingey and run down.  
  
He took a deep breath to steady himself, he appeared to be swaying. Like  
he was on a train. was he on a train with Victoria? Where were they  
going? 'Come with me.........you'll regret it if you don't' -- he heard  
those words as if she were right there with him, as if were there again  
and no time had passed. It was not going fast, slow so that he swayed  
gently, rhythmically without losing balance. She was holding him ...  
...he was holding her. She was warm and soft and she smelt like home,  
he had known her forever, across a thousand lifetimes, she was the other  
half of his soul. She has caught him, caught this morning's minion, kingdom  
of daylight, he could hear her poem again .......... how he rung upon  
the rein ... rain ....... Ray. He should apologise to Ray for running  
off like that, for risking Ray's house and reputation, for that silly  
argument. For not getting him featured, too, in the article about the  
day he saved Chicago from nuclear annihilation. Chicago, the city Ray  
loves. But Benny. Benny was not so sure. It seemed to him more and more  
that life sucks sometimes. People up and leave you, taking a part of  
you with them. Soon there would be very little of Benny left to give,  
to help people with. If other people keep taking bits with hem when they  
go. Who went? His mother, his grandparents, his father, Mark, Victoria  
... Where was he? On a train? No on a street, he could see the lamplight  
above, no lamps on a train. how did that happen? It must be near now,  
home. he could see the moon, a crescent, a bow, a bow bend.....the fire  
that breaks, he could feel the fire in his back, the fire of the bullet,  
Ray's bullet. Ray's bullet, finally reaching its target.  
  
"Benton", whispered an urgent voice. "Benton. Go back  
son, you should not be here."  
  
Fraser looked around. He was on an ice floe. He sat up. No pain,  
no aches. The sky was a clear arctic blue, bright from reflected snow.  
  
"Dad ? What are you doing here ?"  
  
Benton looked at his hands- no burns. He was wearing his red serge  
coat, his Sam Browne belt, blue trousers, mountie boots and, yes, he  
felt his head, his Stetson. The air, when he sucked it in, was crisp  
and clear. No exhaust fumes. It felt good. Benton smiled; he felt  
kind of peaceful.  
  
"Benton!" He looked back to his father. "Son, you have  
to go, you don't belong here." His father's voice was concerned.  
Ben studied him hard. He looked like he always did, but Benton, himself,  
felt a great peace. Peaceful; no other word for this feeling; no doubts,  
no longings, no hesitations, no lack of trust, no sense of betrayal,  
no sense of loss. He felt belonging. It felt right. Ignoring the older  
man, he glanced away towards a splashing sound to catch sight of an otter  
playfully flicking its tail. And over to the left a school of seal cavorted  
on the ice, honking. He had not heard that sound in a long long time.  
  
"I'd like to stay here." He replied, simply. "Dad,  
the pain has gone."  
  
Robert Fraser knew that his son was not talking about physical pain,  
no, that sort of pain had never scared Benton. He was talking about  
that other sort of pain. The pain he had felt when Caroline had died  
.  
"It's not your time, son. You have things to do. You have friends,  
they are concerned about you."  
  
"But I like it here," Fraser was becoming petulant. He was  
reluctant to give up the comfort of the bright and familiar ice.  
  
"You have to face your life, you have a lot to give, you have a  
lot of love still in you-"  
  
"But Dad, when I love it all turns to darkness. I'm afraid of the  
choices I have made. And might make in the future. I'm afraid of the  
darkness inside me, the things I am capable of. I let people down."  
  
His father nodded and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, " Benton,  
we all have our demons to face, we all have our unpleasant sides. Your  
friend Ray, for example, he is not always honest is he ? And after all  
he did shoot you. But you forgave him, forgive yourself now. It's time  
all those wounds were healed."  
  
Benton turned his gaze from the sparkling water to the pure clean ice  
to the compassion of his father's face. "The world is a dirty place,"  
he whispered.  
  
"Yes, and you are helping to find the purity in it. People like  
you are rare there. You have to return and show people the goodness  
in themselves. You have so much goodness in you."  
  
His father's voice was becoming faint and his face blurry, it was turning  
into the blinding glare of the ice. Benton blinked. Yes his father  
was right, he had been a coward. He ought to be facing up to his mistakes,  
concentrating on his inner strength. He should concentrate on the inspector  
and the possibilities there. He need not be alone, he would look for  
the light and the loveliness of things.  
  
Bright light, Benton blinked rapidly until the light in his eyes eased,  
unsure if they were open or closed. Finally he was able to focus on  
the face of a stranger  
The stranger spoke to him, reassuringly and  
controlled. Benton could not make out the quiet words. Maybe it was  
French. Speak slowly, I can't understand. He felt warm now but was  
unable to move his legs and his arms were too heavy to be bothered with.  
He moved his head away from the kind face and saw that he was in a room,  
on his back in a bed. He could hear other voices, hushed. He sniffed  
deeply, antiseptic, bleach. He licked his lips, they were dry and cracked  
and he could not find a voice to speak. Was it still a dream ? He could  
feel something sharp in his arm and tight on his chest and tried to make  
some sense of it all. A hospital ? But how did he get here ? It was  
easier to drift back and look for the ice floe and his father who would  
answer his questions.  
  
Finding the ice floe was more difficult than anticipated. What he did  
find was a vast expanse of snow and cliff, he even found Diefenbaker.  
Snuggling into his furry hood, he crouched in the snow next to the wolf,  
unconsciously rubbing him behind his ears.  
"What can you see,  
boy ?"  
He searched the snow for clues, a footprint, a broken twig. His tracking  
skills were, after all, legendary. he squinted in the bright arctic  
sun. How he loved the purity of it all, the silence, the isolation,  
the stillness. it was untouched by the evil in men's hearts. That was  
why he was drawn to it.  
  
Victoria.  
He couldn't stop the memory of Fortitude Pass. It was like this place.  
Unwelcome memories replayed. His supplies lost, sheer exhaustion had  
overtaken him, then he saw her huddled against that crag. His quarry  
at last. Yes he was an exceptional tracker. He nearly died then, was  
delirious too, through cold and hunger. Her voice had brought him back,  
the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. She recited that poem,  
her poem. Afterwards he had searched for it, memorised it until it  
had become his poem too. Windhover. The poem that had helped him survive  
Ray's bullet at the station, in the ambulance, at the hospital in the  
ER. Windhover; a bird. There were birds in the clear sky, high up  
and circling. Not windhovers, or maybe they were. Time to give up  
and go back, Benton. Time to stop running away. Ray would be worried.  
Meg would be worried. When did she stop being Inspector Thatcher and  
become Meg ? He smiled, the ice was melting and slowly changing into  
a Chicago Street, Octavia. A sunny street and there was Ray's house.  
He only had to climb the familiar steps and Ma Vecchio would open the  
door, welcome him with a hug and draw him inside to the comfort of a  
loving family.  
  
Ray's bullet could wait.  
  
  
Detective Raymond Vecchio was finishing a piece of his mother's excellent  
cassata when his cellphone beeped. He knew he should have turned it  
off. After the day he had just had all he wanted to do was collapse  
on the sofa with a bottle of Coors and the Chicago Guardian and just  
relax. Well maybe not with the Guardian, wasn't that the trigger that  
started the dispute with Benny ? His saintly photo smiling on the front  
page. And on pages 7,8,9 and 10. Reporters were not his favorite topic  
either. Man, he was tired; being strapped to a bomb with an irritating  
friend was stressful. Nevertheless, everything had turned out alright  
in the end, everyone saved, the Bolts arrested. He had even made it  
up with Frasier and they were talking to each other again. In fact he  
was still puzzling over the mysterious semaphore interchange he had  
witnessed between Benny and the Dragon Lady. Was something going on  
there ? If so, the mountie wasn't telling. Ray hoped there was, after  
Victoria Benny could do with a reliable woman who would not betray him.  
  
He stopped this train of thought and turned his attention to the caller.  
It was Detective Huey at the station house asking for Fraser. Evidently  
a journalist had taken Diefenbaker back to Fraser's apartment but could  
get no answer from the Mountie. She had even spent a nervous half hour  
waiting outside his room before returning home to put a call through  
to the police in the hope of tracking him down there. Huey thought perhaps  
the errant Mountie was at Ray's. This was strange. Ray knew Fraser  
would never neglect his wolf. Well not under normal circumstances.   
Ray recalled a time when Benny did abandon Dief and all his other responsibilities  
to get on a train with Victoria. Her name still brought a taste of bile  
to the back of his throat. How he despised her. Surely she couldn't  
have returned. No, that did not bear thinking about. There had to  
be a more rational explanation. His mind explored possibilities. Ray  
did not like the explanations his imagination supplied. Sure, the Mountie  
could take care of himself, couldn't he ? Look at the neighbourhood  
he lived in. Something must have happened.  
  
He told Louis he'd investigate then dialled the Consulate; no answer.  
So Benny was not working late, he must have left there. He steeled himself  
and called the Dragon Lady. She told him that Benton had been the last  
to leave, she'd asked him to lock up. She imagined that would have been  
around 5.30pm; three and one half hours ago. Where could the Mountie  
have got to ?  
  
As he left his house and climbed into the Buick, a worried frown creasing  
his brow, he called Elaine and asked her to check the hospitals-just  
in case. He felt a dread as he did this but really there seemed to be  
no alternative. For Benny to forget Dief, this meant he was in trouble,  
Ray accepted that now. He noted the concern in her voice; it was no  
secret that she had a soft spot for Fraser, that had been obvious from  
the first minute she saw him. Elaine, Francesca, God knew how many others.  
But Benny was impervious to all except Victoria and maybe Thatcher.   
Ray did not like Fraser's boss much either. She demanded too much, was  
too harsh and abrupt. Could she really give him the care and love he  
needed? Ray hoped fervently that Benny was still around to pursue that  
relationship in spite of his misgivings. The world would be a lonelier  
and less fulfilling place without his friend to share it.  
  
With these maudlin thoughts on his mind Ray drove to the Consulate from  
where he intended to trace Fraser's probable route home. Maybe he would  
find some clues. Hey ! He was beginning to think like a Mountie. Ray  
could not stop thoughts of all the terrible things that could have happened  
to his friend : hit by a drunk driver, mugged by a desparate heroin  
addict, shot by a lunatic, kidnapped, stalked by one of his many women  
admirers and- no, he had to think positively. He was probably chatting  
with some street people or had got sidetracked into solving some destitute  
person's financial problems, or even trying to catch some criminal on  
the run. You just never knew with Benny, what would happen. Anything  
was possible.  
Nevertheless Ray walked slowly, glancing down every  
dark alleyway looking out for red serge whilst at the same time hoping  
he would see none. Yes, he found Frasier irritating and annoying as  
Hell but he had become such an integral part of his life he was like  
a brother. He could not imagine life without him.  
  
Ray had begun to pray. Pray that his friend was ok, the mantra keeping  
panic at bay. After walking and searching for 15 minutes his concentration  
was broken by the insistent beep of his cellphone. It was Elaine;   
two John Does at the hospital, neither in a Mountie uniform. Ray  
sighed, that was good news wasn't it ?  
  
Ray was only a couple of blocks from West Racine and there were still  
no clues. Maybe he should have brought Dief with him to help track his  
master or packmate. Or whatever. Ray wasn't sure how the wolf regarded  
Frasier. He was certainly protective of him. If Dief had been with  
him nothing would have happened to him. Ray realised that he had decided  
at some point during this search that something bad had happened to his  
friend. He sighed again as he carried on looking with a heavy heart.  
  
A movement up ahead caught his attention, he could make out a figure  
crouched down in the darkness; Ray's police senses kicked in. The figure  
was behaving suspiciously so he approached warily. As Ray shouted out  
"Police, stop right where you are!" the man jumped to his feet  
and sprinted off into the shadows. The sight of a body on the ground  
stopped the detective in the action of drawing his weapon. A body clothed  
in unmistakable red serge.  
  
Ray ran toward the fallen figure, "Frasier ?"  
He knelt down to verify that it was indeed his partner lying in the  
dirty alleyway. The man he frightened off must have been trying to find  
something worth stealing from the unconscious mountie because his Sam  
Browne was unfastened and some of his jacket buttons were undone. Ray  
reached out a hand and flexed his fingers before placing them on the  
mountie's throat. He sighed in relief when he felt the steady pulse  
of Fraser's blood. He saw then that Fraser was breathing regularly  
too. Ray checked for visible injuries and found none but his friend's  
forehead was hot as if fevered. Ray was puzzled, to his knowledge the  
mountie had never fainted before.  
"Hey, Frasier, wake up."  
He shook him gently and Fraser moaned in response. Then he opened his  
eyes and met Ray's concerned gaze.  
  
"It's okay, buddy, lie still. What happened to you ?"  
  
Fraser squeezed his eyes shut as his face contorted in pain, unable to  
reply he gasped pitifully. Tears rolled from beneath his eyelids. "I'm  
here, Benny. Everything is gonna be OK. If you can't get up I'll call  
an ambulance. You'll be OK."  
There was no response, Fraser  
lay still again his whole body radiating heat. Ray scowled, perhaps  
he had flu. But if Ray couldn't get him off the sidewalk the paramedics  
would have to.  
  
Ray called for the emergency services and waited feeling helpless. His  
detective skills were useless in instances like this as there were no  
clues. No sign of injury, no sign of a crime. Just his best friend  
lying there making him feel helpless. How long had he been unconscious  
like this ? That morning Fraser had told Ray that he believed everyone  
was a Saint. Well not one of the saints who had passed him by that evening  
had bothered to assist him, had they ? Why did Benny insist on seeing  
the good in everyone ? There were too many people who were downright  
self centered and uncaring and that was the most important lesson life  
taught you. In this city anyway.  
  
Maybe he should try to wake the mountie again ? He took off his coat  
and made a pillow of it which he gently pushed beneath his partner's  
clammy head. His hair was sticky with sweat and he did not respond when  
Ray called his name again. When you have flu you wake when someone calls  
your name, don't you ? You don't just lie there pale and still. Fraser  
coughed and Ray was at his side in an instant, he took a hand in both  
of his trying to pass on some strength. It was all he could think of  
to do.  
  
Then he heard the siren and the footfalls of the approaching medics as  
they took over and did their job. He stood back as they attended his  
friend and answered their questions as best he could.  
"Any  
recent head injuries ?"  
"Well yesterday he was knocked out and he fell down an elevator  
shaft earlier today." That really sounded ludicrous to Ray's ears  
and he shook his head. The situations Benny got him into! He responded  
to the paramedic's incredulous expression with, "Well he is a Mountie.  
"  
  
Was that it ? Maybe the blow to his head from Bolt had given him delayed  
concussion. Was there such a thing ? It certainly sounded plausible  
to Ray. The medics finished measuring Benton's vital signs, set up  
an IV line and loaded him into a waiting ambulance allowing a grateful  
Ray to ride with them to the hospital.  
  
  
Ray stood up expectantly as the doctor from ER approached and shook his  
hand. "Doctor Clarkson. I believe you came in with the mountie,  
Constable Fraser ?"  
"Yes, I'm detective Vecchio."  
Ray replied. "How is he ?"  
  
The doctor explained that Fraser had elevated vital signs indicating  
a systemic infection. As yet they were unable to determine the cause  
as there were no visible signs of injury. He wondered if Ray knew of  
any serious injuries Fraser had incurred in the past.  
  
Ray's heart skipped a beat, a look of shame crossed his face and he tried  
to hide it. He thrust his hands in his pockets and scrutinised the floor  
tiles.  
"Several months ago he spent a few weeks in here after  
a gunshot wound in his back. The bullet was never removed. T8 vertebrae,"  
This last was barely a whisper but the doctor heard it.  
"Ah,  
I see. Then I shall look for his records. If you wish to see your friend  
wait until a nurse comes for you."  
Ray nodded an automatic response.  
His mind was whirling with desperate thoughts. Was that it ? He knew  
his bullet was still in Benny's back. It was a wonder he had been allowed  
to carry on working. Most American policemen would have been invalided  
out for that.  
  
Automatically, he followed a nurse to the ward and hesitated before  
entering the room. He was reluctant to face his friend, was this really  
his fault ? After all this time ?  
Fraser lay motionless on the  
bed. Ray's haunted eyes took in the IV drip, the monitor and recalled  
another time. Apart from an unnatural pallor, the mountie appeared  
to be sleeping. Ray stood at the foot of the bed not daring to go any  
nearer. He was stunned.  
Surely, not his bullet, not after all  
this time. A bullet fired in haste, a bullet fired by mistake, stopped  
Benton deserting him but took eighteen months to complete its journey.  
The doctor entered with a paper bundle. He put them down after a brief  
consultation then began to examine the scar between the Mountie's shoulders.  
Ray had not seen it before and was curious, craning his neck to get a  
better look.  
It looked sore, and large too. Deforming the perfection  
of Fraser's otherwise flawless back.  
  
Unbidden, unwelcome memories assaulted him. Another night, a cool night,  
a station platform and a realisation. He was crouched by a body, his  
hand resting on a leather jacketed chest covering a heart that was gradually  
pulsing less vibrantly. Feeling the heat seep out by degrees. Fighting  
tears, meeting unfocussed blue eyes and hearing whispered words, understanding  
few of them.  
  
Benny- what have I done? Benny, don't die, don't let me kill you. Hold  
on, for God's sake. He'd lowered his gun, the instrument of his guilt.  
He had pointed that gun at Victoria, he had released the safety, aimed,  
squeezed the trigger. He'd missed her, the bullet had rushed uncaring  
across the platform and embedded itself into his partner's back. It had  
pulled him from the train and out of his lover's arms. Blood in increasing  
circles on the concrete. Benny's blood.  
He shook his head, no.   
Welsh, Huey, Louis, stunned, speechless, stopped in their tracks. They'd  
looked at him, accusation in their stares. Horrified.  
Surely, the  
Mountie was indestructible. Surely the Mountie was incorruptible ?  
Their faith shattered, they 'd stared in silence, the death of hope.  
Louis had the presence of mind of all of them to call for an ambulance.  
"Officer down !"  
After all that had happened, he was still one of them, a cop.  
  
He'd felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, imparting moral support.  
Unspoken words from Welsh : You were doing your duty.  
Duty is a  
poor excuse for shooting your friend. Naive, innocent, vulnerable Fraser;  
he needed protecting, not shooting. The ambulance had taken too long  
that time.  
Time had stretched out like it was elastic. Time in  
which to watch Benny's vitality ooze out of Ray's bullet hole. Ray  
had gently covered his friend with his coat when he realised he was shaking  
with tremors. But never did he falter in his recitation of that poem,  
"Windhover."  
Ray had found it much later; powerful words.  
Words that can keep a man this side of death, stop a man crossing over  
the line of life. He couldn't make sense of its beauty but it had obviously  
meant a lot to Frasier. Hell, it had saved his life.  
He had stayed  
there, frozen, feeling the snow fall around them both, his hand on his  
friend's heart willing it to beat. His eyes locked with watery blue ones  
that contained no accusation, until the paramedics pulled him away.  
  
At the hospital that time he did not know if Benny would pull through.  
He'd lived through uncertainty. He'd gone through raging powerful emotions;  
remorse, regret, sorrow, guilt. What would life be like without Benny  
? How would he ever recover from causing the death of his best friend  
?  
  
And now, here they were again, those emotions that wrung him out and  
froze his heart in his chest. That tight feeling across his collar bone,  
the gnawing in his stomach. Sure, since Benny had entered the 27th  
stationhouse looking for Detective Armani, those feelings had become  
familiar to him. It was all part and parcel of "bonding"  
with the Mountie. He was drawn to danger. A babe magnet and a danger  
magnet. Ray smiled at the whimsical thought. But he had survived after  
scaring Ray many times. He would survive now. He had to. He realised  
he had been angry with him recently, but that did not mean he'd welcome  
his death.  
  
Memories again of the ICU and sleeping on hard hospital chairs because  
he did not want Fraser to die alone. Not that the Mountie would ever  
have known, he was hardly ever awake for the first week after the accident.  
Huh, accident. Nice word, Ray. He'd never known that Ray was there,  
or what Ray was going through. His face had looked so relaxed and peaceful  
then before consciousness had brought back the memories. It had taken  
weeks to recuperate, to put the memories of Victoria to the back of  
his mind, to heal the scars both physical and mental.  
  
Time was a funny thing.  
  
Turn the clock back , why couldn't he ? Go back to the station, not  
pull the trigger. But then Benny would have been gone, gone away with  
her.  
Another scenario. Get to the station before Frasier and shoot  
Victoria. Yes, in a perfect world; that would have worked. Poor Benny,  
a round peg in a square hole. Trusting people so much that even when  
faced with all that evidence he did not stop loving her. But he had  
given so much to Ray, shown him a better way, given him optimism. Turned  
some of his cynicism into faith, faith in human nature. All Benny ever  
wanted was to make the world a better place. There weren't enough Benny's.  
I need him here where he can work his magic, make us all better people.  
Ray gripped the metal end of the bed, looked up from his feet to  
the body on the bed, registered the faint regular breathing of the friend  
he had shot and waited for the memories to stop.  
  
Could you fit any more pain into 24 hours ? Emotional pain, not the  
physical kind. Ray knew he could deal with physical pain a lot more  
adequately than this. Memories just kept flowing, all of them examples  
of the ways in which he had let his friend down, or not been there in  
time for him. Now he was remembering another time. Running through  
an almost deserted building, searching for him, pushing scattered cartons  
out of the way, halting at a broken glass panel, no time then to even  
wonder what damage it had caused his friend. Then a sound of voices,  
grunts and a noise that registered but which he could not interpret.  
The sound of a door slamming as he pounded down the corridor, gun drawn.  
  
He could see the body first in its unmistakable blue peacoat and his  
heart faltered. "Benny ? You okay?" A whisper as if his  
voice could make the difference between life and death. He fell to the  
floor and was relieved to discover that the Mountie was not dead as he  
had feared. Nevertheless, he was too late to have prevented a vicious  
beating. Ray let his chin fall to his chest and his hands rested limply  
against his thighs. It was his fight. Zuko was his "enemy."  
why had the Mountie got involved ? Later, he would get his revenge.  
  
It should have been Ray who was the one to be beaten. This was Marco  
all over again. Although they had graduated from the school playground,  
the rules and the game had not changed. The innocent were still getting  
hurt. But Benny never blamed him, then, either. He didn't complain  
about his bruises or the pain of the damaged ribs. He had tried to hide  
the twinges and the winces, but Ray had seen and it tore at his heart.  
<My battle, my people, my old school rival.> Yet Ray knew the  
Mountie was frightened. He had driven him to the hardware store to buy  
the lock. This was a sure sign that Frasier had realised at long last  
that Chicago was not like The Territories. That they could get to you  
when you least expected, they could kill you as you lay in your bed,  
dreaming sweet dreams of home. But you had to give the guy credit where  
it was due, even with his face swollen and cut, the women were still  
attracted to him. And he was more afraid of the attention of women than  
Frank Zuko's hired help. Ray smiled at the thought.  
  
Despite all that Fraser couldn't let Zuko be blamed for Louis' murder.  
Even though he had had a hit put on him, almost killed him, made him  
fearful for perhaps the first time in his life, Fraser still had to  
see justice done. Ray hated him for it. But in the end had to agree  
the Mountie had been right all along. He stood by him, prevented Ray  
from making a big mistake and Ray had rewarded him by villifying him.  
Ray had judged his friend too harshly then and again recently after the  
Train article in The Guardian.  
  
Memories longer ago. Geiger. Benny ran to the roof and was stabbed  
in the thigh, Ray hadn't even known. He hadn't really listened to the  
Mountie when he had listed Geiger's misdemeanours: the incredible number  
of law enforcement officers he had killed on both sides of the border.  
He was too interested in making a witty reply. Something about hating  
tourists. Had he really appreciated the danger posed by Geiger, maybe  
Benny wouldn't have been hurt. That was the first time he had realised  
that his friend was vulnerable, that he wasn't a super hero, and that  
he could feel pain and bleed like anyone else. That realisation had  
rocked Ray. Like it was rocking him now.  
  
A prickling sensation at the back of his neck made him turn round. A  
pair of pale eyes locked with his. Ray moved round the foot of the  
bed and sat down. Ray could see the play of emotions across the Mountie's  
face, in the changing expressions in his eyes, the frown that creased  
his forehead as he became aware of his situation. Confusion, pain,  
pleasure then clarity. "Ray?"  
A smile. Don't be smiling  
at me, Benny, thought Ray. I don't deserve it.  
But aloud he answered,  
"I'm here."  
"Good." The Mountie replied simply before closing his eyes  
and falling asleep.  
Ray couldn't suppress his annoyance. Here he  
was, desparate to apologise and make amends, receive forgiveness and  
what did the ungrateful Mountie do but fall asleep on him.  
  
The next time Fraser woke Ray was gone.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
